


Still A Man In Black

by riani1



Series: Hawkeye and the Director When No One is Looking [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Things that happen off screen, Wardrobe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4901920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riani1/pseuds/riani1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's branching out into a new wardrobe.  Clint only gets to see him some of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still A Man In Black

**Author's Note:**

> There were tight black jeans. They were very distracting.

The exigencies of being a visible superhero Avenger and the officially dead director of an officially illegal defunct security organization being what they were, they generally met away from each others' base of operations. And while Clint had been there to hold Phil's remaining hand during the test phases of the new cybernetics, Phil had come no closer to Avengers Tower than a cheap hotel in Alphabet City.

They'd gotten nearly a full twenty-four hours together this time before Phil's Batphone went off. All it interrupted was some hazy afterglow and Clint carefully tapping each fingertip on the new hand while Phil had his eyes closed, allegedly testing responsiveness. They both gave resigned sighs.

"You going to answer that?" Clint asked quietly.

"No. It's just the 'sorry, we finally really need you' buzzer. If they call back within a minute, then it needs answering." Phil tightened both arms around Clint as the beeping stopped. They counted out sixty seconds, then relaxed when there was no new beep. 

Phil sighed and slowly pulled his arms free. "But it's still the call of duty."

"Yeah." Clint leaned in for a long kiss before pushing himself up. Phil let his hands run along strong arms until Clint was out of reach.

They looked around for clothes and untangled shirts and jeans and underwear. Clint weighed two pairs of jeans in his hands, then handed the black pair to Phil. "I miss the suits," he said.

"I still have them, don't worry. I just sometimes have to be the man in jeans." Phil concentrated on getting his new hand to coordinate properly on the dressing process. It was coming along well, but it wasn't the old thoughtless ease. He glanced up in time to see a sad look on Clint's face. "What's wrong?"

Clint ducked his head away as he finished pulling up his own worn blue jeans. "It's just--well--it used to be just me who saw you dressed like that. Casual Phil In Jeans was mine."

Phil went over and laid his flesh hand on Clint's bare shoulder. "I promise you, you're still the only one who watches me take them off."

Clint fought his pleased grin mostly back down. "Except for doctors--and people in the locker room--oh, and ops that get messy--" He smirked against the warm finger that came against his lips to shut him up.

"You are just categorically incapable of letting me have a moment, aren't you, Barton."

"Pretty much, sir," he said through partially closed lips. He kissed the fingertip, then rubbed his cheek against the palm of the hand.

They took a few more minutes, then both silently stepped away from each other and finished dressing. Finally they each checked the room for anything incriminating and headed for the door.

Clint paused with his hand on the doorknob, then grinned back over his shoulder at Phil. "Tell Hunter to stop ogling your ass or I'll tell Morse about Mardi Gras in Paraguay in '09."

Phil frowned. "You weren't in Paraguay in '09."

The grin went evil. "Tasha was."

"And people wonder why I love you."


End file.
